The Lady of the Castle (The Marie Series Book 2) Page 20

  “A child like this makes you realize how time flies,” the merchant said with a sigh.

  Head tilted thoughtfully, Black Eva looked at her. “If you want a child, you shouldn’t wait much longer.”

  Theres shrugged helplessly. “I’d love to have a little one to hold to my chest, but I’m not prepared to be like Oda and bed just anyone.”

  Her companions’ eyes turned to Oda, whose plump figure wasn’t showing signs of her pregnancy yet. But the women already knew that her visit to Fulbert Schäfflein’s tent hadn’t remained without consequences.

  “I think you’ve paid a damned high price for the few pennies the merchant gave you,” Donata sneered. “Now you’re carrying his child and won’t see another dime.”

  “Herr Schäfflein was very generous,” Oda snarled.

  Eva grinned broadly. “I hope you won’t give birth in the middle of a battle or a retreat, because none of us will help you—you can bet your last penny on that.”

  Marie wasn’t quite so sure, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to abandon a birthing woman, even if she was as unpleasant as Oda. But the conversation soon ebbed, and when the first stars appeared over the green canopy of the pine forest, they wished one another a good night. As Marie fluffed up her bed on the large chest, she wondered where Michi had disappeared to this time. She prepared his bed anyway and snuggled under her blankets with Trudi. Though her head was still spinning with everything she had learned in the last few days, she fell asleep almost immediately and dreamed of Michel once again. He seemed cheerful and joked with a few people whose faces remained blurry. But Marie saw clearly the faces of two women there, gazing at her husband with such adoration that she woke up feeling deeply jealous.

  The next morning, the camp seemed paralyzed by exhaustion, which for the Neckar-Frankish group, could be explained by the strenuous marches of the previous weeks. None of the other expected reinforcements turned up. After breakfast, Marie wandered over to Heribert’s tent with Trudi to ask him a few more questions. Since no one seemed to be up yet, she sat down on a fallen tree trunk that served as a seat and table. Görch must have heard her, because he came out of the tent, but before he could say anything, his master stepped out from behind him. His anger melted away at the sight of Marie, and a boyish smile passed over his face.

  “Welcome, beautiful woman! You’re precisely the sight a man needs to forget this miserable war camp.”

  Marie raised her eyebrows. “What’s so bad about this camp?”

  “The mere fact that it still exists! All these people should be on their way to fight the Hussites,” Heribert replied fiercely. “You’ve heard how devastating the Bohemian attacks have been in the Reich. But instead of boldly attacking them and putting them in their place, the kaiser prefers to keep his troops here and make merry in Nuremberg.”

  Suddenly noticing Marie’s pinched expression and thinking that his outburst might have upset her, he grasped her hands. “Forgive me for my rash words. As long as you are here, this camp looks delightful to me.”

  As a woman, she was flattered by the sparkle in his eyes, but how could she look for Michel with an amorous boy following her around? In order to leave him no opportunity for a rash declaration of love, she sighed and pointed in the direction of Nuremberg.

  “I was hoping to venture into the city, but I hear that simple soldiers and women from the camp aren’t welcome.” She soon realized she had misjudged the impact of her words, because Heribert patted the hilt of his sword and offered to accompany her without hesitation.

  “With me at your side, no one will stop you from entering the city.” He looked as though he would sooner kill the gatekeepers than let Marie be turned away.

  She raised her hands, trying to calm him down. “Thank you, but not today. I want to take a look around the camp first and get to know the other groups a little better. If I go to Nuremberg, I should check out my provisions beforehand so I know what to buy.”

  “I’m at your service anytime.” Heribert was about to say something else, but a horn sounded. The Junker seized Marie, pushed her behind him, and drew his sword as if expecting an attack. But the signal merely announced the arrival of the kaiser. Many courtiers accompanied him, including the burgrave of Nuremberg, who was riding at his right as the highest-ranking noble. In the absence of other high-ranking lords, Falko von Hettenheim rode to the left of the kaiser, all puffed up with his borrowed importance.

  The kaiser seemed disappointed at the sight of the small number of assembled soldiers and their poor equipment. Heribert von Seibelstorff sheathed his sword and pushed through the crowd until he was standing directly in front of Sigismund. Since he hadn’t let go of Marie, she had to follow him and was startled when she saw the kaiser’s face. Since their meeting in Constance twelve years before, Sigismund had aged dramatically. His gray beard was unkempt, and his cheeks and forehead were deeply furrowed. But what shook Marie the most was the tired, restless look in his eyes. The fight for his Bohemian kingdom, which started seven years prior, seemed to have robbed Sigismund of his energy.

  Despite his dismay, he managed to exclaim, “Splendid lads!” and asked for their leader.

  Sir Heinrich wended his way through his men, stopped in front of the kaiser, and bowed. Falko von Hettenheim smiled derisively at seeing him and turned to Sigismund. “My cousin, poor in wealth as well as glory, seems to hope to gain both in Bohemia, but I’m afraid he has little chance of success with the miserable-looking bunch he’s brought you.”

  Looking up at his cousin, Heinrich von Hettenheim chuckled. “Your tongue is as loose as a fishwife’s, Falko, but your talk hides your envy for what I have, namely two healthy sons who will carry on my name. You, on the other hand, will be raising a cup to your sixth daughter this fall, because I hear your wife is expecting again.”

  Sir Falko pulled so hard on his reins that his horse whinnied indignantly and collided with the kaiser’s mount. Taking a few steps back, Marie giggled to herself. It sounded like Lady Hulda had tried Hiltrud’s potion, and if she actually did give birth to a daughter, she would pour Heinrich the cup of wine to raise to the baby’s health. While she was still laughing to herself, Heribert stepped in front of Falko’s horse and glared at him.

  “So you are the slanderer Hettenheim, who dragged my father’s reputation through the dirt. I challenge you to a duel, where I will stop your lies, once and for all.”

  The kaiser stared in confusion at the angry Junker, then turned to Falko von Hettenheim, whose face had turned the color of old Burgundy wine. “Who is this fellow?”

  Before Falko could reply, Heribert explained loudly enough for everyone to hear: “My name is Heribert von Seibelstorff. I am the son of Sir Heribald, and I will take revenge for the disgrace this man has brought upon my father.”

  Sigismund raised his hand to quiet him. “As much as I appreciate a fighting spirit among my knights, I prefer that they display their courage in the face of the enemy rather than with one another. I forbid this duel! Lord Falko von Hettenheim is a proven warrior with dazzling achievements that you, young Seibelstorff, have yet to earn. Only when you have shown me that you’re a true knight may you raise your voice among men.”

  Turning pale, Heribert winced as if he had been whipped, but Falko von Hettenheim smirked. “You have just saved this ninny’s life, Your Majesty.”

  The insult forced the blood back into Heribert’s face, and his right hand shot to the hilt of his sword. But before he could draw his weapon, Marie and Heinrich each took hold of an arm and pulled him back. “Curb your anger, you young fool!” Heinrich snapped. “You can’t draw your sword in front of the kaiser. His bodyguard would cut you to pieces before you even touched Falko.”

  Marie spoke soothingly to Heribert, pleading with him to come to his senses. At first he just stared vacantly at her, but then his hand dropped from his sword, and the scowl he gave Falko made
it clear to everyone that he was neither going to forget nor forgive this moment. Falko wasn’t paying any attention to him, however, but was instead gaping at Marie, at a loss for words. Then he saw Trudi clinging to her mother’s skirt, crying, and he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

  Marie knew that he had recognized her but that the sight of Trudi had upset him, because he had been away during her time with Trudi at the count palatine’s court, and he obviously hadn’t heard about her recent blessing of motherhood.

  Sensing that Falko was garnering too much attention, the burgrave of Nuremberg steered his horse over to the kaiser’s. “You are right, my lord! Our knights really shouldn’t kill each other. But a small tournament might help to build strength and a fighting spirit. The young folk can show their worth at the joust and learn from the experience of their elders.”

  The kaiser thought for a moment, then nodded graciously. “That’s an excellent idea, Lord Friedrich. Let the tournament be known for miles around, so that more knights will join us and we can march against the Bohemian rebels with a stronger force.”

  10.

  Michel sat in the watchtower room above the gate to the castle, gazing into the distance. The ancient forests around him gleamed like green fire in the sun, and hawks circled high in the sky on their hunt for prey. Outside the castle walls, Sokolny’s servants and the farmers who had fled to the castle from the surrounding areas had sown wheat and barley during the past fall, hoping the grain would grow and yield a rich harvest. The castle of Falkenhain was like an oasis of peace that neither Hussites nor imperial knights had bothered with so far.

  Michel had been in Sokolny’s service for almost a year and a half. The wound to his hip had healed, and it ached only when the weather was changing and the east wind was blowing sharply over the mountains. Occasionally, splitting headaches followed him like a curse during the day, but his nights were always filled with wild and confusing dreams. Sometimes he saw himself lying on the ground while a man in armor leaned over him, jeering and spitting. Other times, he saw the woman called Marie, who wrapped her arms around him and covered his face with kisses. That dream was even more painful in its own way, because it left him panting with desire. Awakening in the morning, he would instinctively reach for her, only to find an empty space next to him in bed. To ease the agony in his loins, the previous winter he became involved with Jitka, one of the maids, but he had felt so guilty afterward that he had lived like a monk ever since.

  As his thoughts drifted, his eyes roamed the landscape. He suddenly started, squinting as he spotted a group of horsemen approaching from the south. Michel thought he could make out several knights and a few mounted servants, and he wondered whether they might be messengers from the kaiser and king of Bohemia. That would mean that the Hussite rebellion had been crushed, because otherwise the men wouldn’t have made it to Falkenhain without being challenged. Michel turned to Huschke, who was also sitting in the watchtower, sewing the buckle back on his belt.

  “Do you see the horsemen over there? Should we raise the alarm?”

  Shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, Huschke stared at the horsemen. Finally he shook his head. “No alarm necessary, Frantischek. It’s young Sokolny with a few followers and servants.”

  He took the horn and blew the signal to announce visitors, then calmly sat back down and pulled the tarred thread through the next hole.

  “Young Sokolny? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “We don’t like talking about Sir Ottokar since he left the castle to join the Hussites, though we probably have him to thank for not having been attacked yet by the rebels. He’s the count’s younger brother, a great lad, if you ask me.”

  Michel thought of Bolko and the men who had attacked Reimo’s family in the cave, and he grimaced. “But he’s a Hussite!”

  “That’s no reason to pick a fight with him, is it?” Huschke was interrupted by Marek Lasicek who noisily entered the watchtower, asking about the meaning of the signal.

  Huschke pointed out the window. “Sir Ottokar is coming.”

  After glancing outside to see for himself, Marek cheerfully slapped the other man on the shoulder. “It really is the young master!”

  Huschke gestured at Michel. “Our Nemec doesn’t like Hussites and is suspicious of Sir Ottokar.”

  “God in heaven, the young lord is no mindless, fanatical Hussite, but first and foremost a Sokolny. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to us.”

  “If Falkenhain is so safe, then why are we constantly on the lookout?” Michel snapped.

  “We are never safe from marauding patrols that accidently pass by, and we can’t trust that Hettenheim and his Germans. They strike without asking whether one is loyal to the kaiser or not, laying waste to several villages not long ago in a way no less cruel than the Hussites.”

  For a moment, the war seemed to have rebuilt the wall between Michel and Marek, the German and the Czech, that had fallen away more than a year ago. They stared each other down; the Czech then turned away and went to open the gate. Slowly, Michel followed him, reaching the courtyard just as Ottokar Sokolny and his men rode into the castle. The men’s armor seemed a little old-fashioned, but Michel didn’t have time to consider why he felt that way. Young Sokolny wore a mail shirt reaching down to his hips, a great helm, or heaume, with a narrow visor and stylized falcon wings on its sides, and iron leg tubes ending in flexible iron shoes. His shield displayed another falcon on a red background. The knights accompanying him were similarly dressed, with only different helm decorations and coats of arms, while the mounted servants wore lentner, armor made from boiled and pressed leather, and plain iron caps on their heads.

  Ottokar Sokolny led his horse to the main steps and dismounted stiffly. Marek, Huschke, and several servants rushed over to help him.

  “It’s nice to have you back, Sir Ottokar.” Marek briefly clasped the young man’s hand.

  “Well, Marek, are you still trying to make soldiers out of my brother’s peasants, or are you regretting not having come with me?” Ottokar joked.

  “I don’t regret it, because I don’t want anything to do with those murderous Taborites.”

  Thinking this was a reasonable response, Michel wondered what might have moved the count’s brother to join the Bohemian rebels. As he passed, Ottokar Sokolny paused and scrutinized him with eyes narrowed to slits.

  “You must be new? I don’t know you.” Michel had learned enough Czech by now to understand his question and be able to reply.

  “I am new and I don’t know you, either.” He couldn’t deny his German accent.

  Ottokar Sokolny scowled when he realized that Michel was German, and raised his eyebrows even higher on seeing him marked as a high-ranking leader among his brother’s men, as indicated by his padded leather jerkin and solid leather boots. But he didn’t say anything as he climbed the stairs, his armor clinking softly. Count Václav Sokolny came to meet his brother. “Greetings, Ottokar. Today is a blessed day, because it has led you to me. How long has it been since we last saw each other?”

  “More than three years, Václav, and I’m glad to find you in good health. How is little Janka? Is she still climbing trees like a squirrel?”

  “Janka has become a young lady and certainly isn’t climbing trees anymore.” Though Sokolny’s daughter had shot out of the door in a very unladylike manner to greet her uncle, at her father’s words she suddenly turned into a well-behaved young noblewoman. She curtsied to Ottokar, but her eyes gazed past him to where Michel was still standing at the foot of the stairs, not taking his eyes off the count’s brother.

  “Time flies, Ottokar, even if it seems to stand still here at the castle, and only the changing seasons remind us that life is passing by.” Count Sokolny sighed and looked old for a moment. But then he straightened up and greeted the arriving knights and servants with a handshake.

  Ot
tokar put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I urgently need to talk to you, Václav.”

  “We have plenty of time for that. Why don’t you first wash off the dust of the road and enjoy what our kitchen and cellar have in store for hungry visitors.” Sokolny ordered a servant to run to the kitchen and tell Wanda that very special guests had arrived.

  11.

  A good hour later, the two brothers sat at the head of the horseshoe-shaped table in the great hall, their high-ranking followers at their sides, including Feliks Labunik, Marek, and Michel, whose presence seemed to disturb Sir Ottokar.

  “Do you think it’s wise, Václav, to let this German sit at your table?” he asked rudely.

  “It’s my table, and I decide who can sit at it and who can’t,” his brother rebuffed him gently but firmly.

  “Some won’t like that a German stands so high in your favor.”

  Count Václav waved dismissively. “As if anyone cares what happens at my castle.”

  “You’re fooling yourself and you know it! Neither our leader, little Prokop, nor the Taborite priests have forgotten about Falkenhain Castle and its lord, still loyal to the traitor Sigismund.” Ottokar’s tone was as aggressive as if he were talking to his enemy and not his brother. Quickly getting himself under control, he looked challengingly at the elder Sokolny. “I can’t protect you any longer, Václav. You have to join us, or you will perish.”

  “I have sworn an oath of allegiance to Kaiser Sigismund, and I will not break it to join robbers and murderers!” Václav Sokolny pounded his fist on the table.

  One of the knights in young Sokolny’s entourage leaned across the table and bared his teeth in fury. “Ottokar is right! You have to switch to our side; otherwise they will burn down your castle and massacre the survivors.”